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Book Review: The Missing and the Dead by Stuart MacBride

Disclosure / Disclaimer: I received this ebook, free of charge,from Partners in Crime Book tours, for review purposes on this blog. No other compensation, monetary or in kind, has been received or implied for this post. Nor was I told how to post about it

Synopsis:

One mistake can cost you everything…

When you catch a twisted killer there should be a reward, right? What Acting Detective Inspector Logan McRae gets instead is a ‘development opportunity’ out in the depths of rural Aberdeenshire. Welcome to divisional policing – catching drug dealers, shoplifters, vandals and the odd escaped farm animal.

Then a little girl’s body washes up just outside the sleepy town of Banff, kicking off a massive manhunt. The Major Investigation Team is up from Aberdeen, wanting answers, and they don’t care who they trample over to get them.

Logan’s got enough on his plate keeping B Division together, but DCI Steel wants him back on her team. As his old colleagues stomp around the countryside, burning bridges, Logan gets dragged deeper and deeper into the investigation.

One thing’s clear: there are dangerous predators lurking in the wilds of Aberdeenshire, and not everyone’s going to get out of this alive…

Review:

This was an interesting follow up to Close to the Bone, and a very revealing look at modern policing in Scotland! Having Logan go back to patrol, to learn to be a team player, by being in charge of a patrol shift, breathes new life into the series, and helps the reader to get ultimately closer to him and Steel. It also brings in new charactaers, some of which I hope we will keep seeing! How Logan cracks the 'big cases' while the special teams flounder will not be a surprise to those who know how real policing works. There are enough twists and turns to keep you reading long into the night until you finish. This series is not to be missed if you love mysteries!

About the Author:

I was born in Dumbarton — no one knows why, not even my mother — and moved up to Aberdeen at the tender age of two, dragging my mother, father, and a pair of wee brothers with me. There followed a less than stellar academic career, starting out in Marchburn Primary School, where my evil parents forced me to join the cub scouts (specialising in tying unnecessary knots in things and wearing shorts). Thence to Middlefield Academy for some combat recorder practice.

Having outstayed our welcome in Heathryfold we stopped thencing and tried going hence instead. To Westhill. To a housing development built over the remains of a pig farm. Sounds a bit suspect, but that’s what the official story was when all the householders found teeth and bones coming to the surface of their neatly tended vegetable plots. Pig farm. Right… Eventually I escaped from Westhill Academy with a CSE in woodwork, a deep suspicion of authority, and itchy shins.

Here followed an aborted attempt to study architecture at Herriot Watt in Edinburgh, which proved to be every bit as exciting and interesting as watching a badger decompose. If you’ve never tried it, I can wholly recommend giving it a go (watching mouldy badgers falling to bits, not architecture). So I gave up the life academic and went a-working offshore instead. That involved a lot of swearing as I recall. Swearing and drinking endless cups of tea. And I think I had Alpen every morning for about a year and a half. Can’t look at a bowl of the stuff now without getting the dry boak, sod how regular it keeps you. After my stint offshore I had a bash at being a graphic designer, a professional actor, an undertaker, a marketing company’s studio manager, a web designer, programmer, technical lead… Then last, but by all means least, finally circling the career drain by becoming a project manager for a huge IT conglomerate.

Shudder.

Anyway, while I was doing all that IT stuff, I wrote a wee book about an Aberdonian detective sergeant and his dysfunctional colleagues: Cold Granite. HarperCollins bought it, and overnight I went from a grumpy project manager caterpillar to a writing butterfly. As long as you can picture a six-foot-tall, pasty-white, bearded butterfly with no wings, that spends all its time hanging about the house in its jammies.

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About Me

Welcome to my little corner of the blog-o-sphere, and Bless Your Hearts, maybe some of ya'll will read my blog and get a good laugh or two along the way! This blog is alot like cooking- a little of this and a little of that, but it all makes the blog better than following a set recipe (niche), just like when your Mama or Grandma cooks! Just like the saying "Bless her/his heart". I've heard it all my life, from Mom and my Southern relatives (yes, there is a Yankee side, sorry Robert E. Lee), and now I've caught myself saying it. Motherhood does that to you- brings out stuff you thought you'd gotten away from. So grab a cup of coffee or tea, and sit down and hopefully, you'll stay awhile and come back for more! The WELCOME mat is out, ya'll come in!